


Tempests, Never Shaken

by tamed_untranslatable



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:03:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamed_untranslatable/pseuds/tamed_untranslatable
Summary: A question asked, a question answered.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A short, unbeta'd ficlet based on a long-held headcanon :)

“You’re having me on.”

“I would never.”

“Yes, you would.” John was grinning stupidly, foiling his attempt at sternness. “And you’re doing it right now.”

“Me? Having you on?” Sherlock’s eyebrows raised, his voice filled with false indignation. “About something as important as this?”

John burst into giggles beside him; he couldn’t help it. The wine they’d had at Angelo’s was running warm through his veins – they’d had a bit more than usual, savoring their glasses alongside each sumptuous course and the quiet intimacy of the restaurant as the snow floated down in flurries outside their window. They’d laughed loudly and kissed often, infected by the beauty of the atmosphere, rejoicing in each other’s company in that wonderfully comfortable way that came so naturally to them now. They’d been too caught up in the magic of the evening to let it end when the check came, so instead they’d pulled on their coats and had foregone all the cabs, walking home through snowflakes dancing in the light of the street lamps.

“You can’t even _see_ it,” John snickered, casting his gaze up toward the grey sky.

“It’s the most prominent star in the sky, John, it doesn’t have to be seen make itself known.” Sherlock’s cheeks were slightly flushed with cold, but his hand was warm where it wrapped around John’s. “See the silver gleam on the bottom edges of that cloud? That’s its rays shining through.”

“No star can do that.” John’s eyes followed where Sherlock was pointing, upwards and vaguely to the right.

“Sirius can. If you know where to look, you can see it on virtually every night of the year, no matter the weather. Why do you think it was so important for marine navigation?”

John cocked his head. “For handsome gits to show off?”

A low guffaw burst from Sherlock’s throat, his mouth twisting endearingly as he tried to muffle it, and he sidestepped quickly in John’s direction to shove him playfully in the side.

“Make fun if you like, but if you’d been a sailor a couple of centuries ago, you’d know exactly where to find it.”

“Oh yeah?” John beamed back, his breath catching a bit in his throat; snowflakes had settled in Sherlock’s hair, tiny pinpricks of light dotting those ebony curls. “And where would it have taken me?”

Sherlock’s answering smile lit up the quiet street.

“Well, on all manner of adventures.” He looked back up toward where the star supposedly was. “You could have gotten your bearings from it all the way round Europe, or used it to set out looking for the New World.”

“Oh, a valiant explorer. I like that.” A slight breeze gusted past them down the road, and John pressed a bit closer to Sherlock. “Up on deck with my spyglass, looking for undiscovered countries…”

“Yes, in a sense.” Sherlock looked at him sideways, still grinning. “And you could follow Sirius the whole journey and never lose your way.”

John’s face ached from smiling so much. “And what if we got hit by a storm?”

“Then you’d be _especially_ reliant on it.” Sherlock’s eyes glinted with mirth, mischief. Affection. “Did you know that stars stay the same _even after a storm?_ ”

“Oh, shut _up_.” He couldn’t even manage to roll his eyes. He was already laughing.

“If you were an especially good sailor, you’d only have to find it again and adjust your course,” Sherlock went on, chuckling too. “And if not, then you’d turn around and use it to plot your way home. Point yourself northeast and follow it straight into the Port of London.”

John shook his head, seeing his giggles reflected back on Sherlock’s joyous face. He couldn’t even feel the cold anymore.

“Alright, genius,” he smirked, and loved the almost-undetectable flush that crept up onto Sherlock’s cheeks at the word. “And where are you on my grand adventure?”

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “I’d be the captain, obviously.”

“Oi, why are _you_ the captain?”

“Well, I’d have to be, wouldn’t I? Given that I’m the only one who knows how to navigate?” Sherlock swivelled around to face John completely, walking backwards through the snow.

“You made _all_ of that up,” John returned with a grin.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. “Is that any way to speak to your captain?”

Laughter burst from John’s throat. “Oh, you –” It was too much to even finish his sentence.

“Tread lightly, sailor,” Sherlock carried on with a cheeky grin covering his face. “You wouldn’t want me to put you on the night watch, would you?” 

John stepped in a bit closer to him. “Well, that depends. Will my captain be joining me?”

His eyes glinted, brilliant. “Traditionally, no,” he said, leaning in slightly. “But in this case I think perhaps I might like to keep you up all night.”

John’s smile split all the way across his face as he flung himself at Sherlock, the snow whipping in a flourish about their ankles as Sherlock lifted him off his feet and whirled him around.

“Seems my duty calls, then,” John beamed. He could feel the smile on Sherlock’s face, its shimmering rays brimming in his chest.

“Good.” Sherlock set him back onto the pavement but kept him wrapped tightly in his arms. “I could help you brush up your astronomy.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” John giggled, and then he was kissing him.

A bright, gorgeous, breathless kiss, each of them smiling too wide to delve in too deep, and it was as perfect as the gentle snowflakes that dusted their coats, warm as the soft glow of the light on the corner just beyond them. It was the all the enchantment of the evening they’d spent feeling lucky just to be near each other, of all the days and nights they’d ever spent chasing each other through the streets, laughing in each other’s arms, being completely and wholly happy the way they were always meant to be.

It was everywhere John wanted to be for the rest of his life, and as he held himself against Sherlock’s grinning lips, chapped a bit from the cold, he felt something shift inside him – like the sky had opened up to him and showed him the shining way forward. Like the forever he’d always known he wanted was suddenly right in front of him, and it was time to grab hold of it, to carry with him, always.

He pulled back just a bit, his arms on Sherlock’s shoulders, Sherlock’s brilliant, infectious joy still glowing out of him like the sun, and no sooner had everything fallen into place in John’s mind that the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Marry me.”

They left him in a rush, and he watched the breathy cloud they created break across Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock’s eyes widened, his carefree smile dropping off his face.

“What?” was his reply, barely a whisper.

“Marry me, Sherlock. Let’s do it.” John could feel his eyes softening, even as his face lit up brighter than before. He cradled Sherlock’s nape in one hand, threading those beloved curls through his fingers. “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

Sherlock gasped out something between bewilderment and hope, and the corners of his mouth twitched, not yet daring. “Do you mean it?"

 _“Yes.”_ The sight made John’s heart swell against his ribcage, so full he thought it might burst. “Yes, of _course_ I mean it. I _love_ you.” His voice was rough, a heavy mix of joy and wonder having lodged itself in his throat. “I love you, and all I want is just to be with you, now and forever–”

His voice cracked; he swallowed it down. Dimly he could feel a warm tear sliding down his cheek. 

Sherlock’s eyes were glistening like starlight. Lips wobbling.

John wanted to remember that look as long as he lived – wanted to hold forever onto the moment when the love of his life held their future together in his hands with a breathless, enraptured longing that eclipsed everything else in the world.

“So what do you say?” John asked, feeling a smaller, watery smile stretch across his lips. He searched Sherlock’s gaze, bright and beautiful and infinite. “Sherlock Holmes, will you marry me?”

Sherlock let out a choked sound, as his own wavering smile reappeared.

“ _Yes,”_ he whispered, desperately. “Yes, yes, _yes._ ”

He pulled John back in – or maybe it was John who pulled _him_ back in – for a bruising kiss, and John’s heart filled to the brim and spilled over. He dove in without restraint, tightening his arms across Sherlock’s back, and kissed him long, hard, and jubilant, kissed them both breathless and gasping, kissed his own bursting soul into Sherlock’s gorgeous lips.

“Yes, yes, of _course_ , yes,” Sherlock was whispering between kisses, and he was laughing, and crying, and so was John, and they couldn’t get each other close enough. “Yes, John, yes, of _course_ I’ll marry you, of course…” and his voice was breaking, and John could taste his certainty in every swipe of his tongue, every gleeful _yes, yes, yes_ falling between his lips.

John kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, until his feet might have been frozen to the ground, though he couldn’t feel it, then pulled back a fraction of an inch to watch Sherlock blink open his eyes, wet with tears that might have been John’s and brimming with unfathomable happiness that belonged to them both, a smile on his lips unlike anything John had ever seen that was wholly, perfectly, his.

He was nothing short of a miracle, and John heard his breathless, wondering laugh-sob echoed back from Sherlock’s lips before he felt it escape his own.

“You’re gonna marry me,” John breathed.

“Yeah.” Sherlock nodded, pursing his lips as his eyes welled up again.

“You’re gonna be my husband,” John gasped out, incredulous because it felt like a dream, a wild desperate wish, but it was _real_ and it was _true_ and John’s entire body was alight with it.

“Husband,” Sherlock echoed, barely a murmur. “My husband.” His hands were nearly trembling where they cradled John’s face. “Oh, _John_.”

His voice cracked once more, and John didn’t care how they ended up kissing again, because Sherlock’s lips were warm even as they wobbled, his breath sweet as harsh bursts of laughter flowed between them, and the swirling snowflakes that tumbled down around them had nothing on the revelation that a lifetime of _this_ , of loving and holding and kissing Sherlock Holmes, was his, and his forever.

John held on tight, whispering and promising and beaming into their kisses, feeling the future stretch out before him like the shining path home, kindled by the light of his north star.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://totheverybestoftimes.tumblr.com/)!


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